


Can't Sleep (Wolves)

by samiech



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Awkward Peter Parker, BAMF Michelle Jones, BAMF Pepper Potts, BAMF Peter Parker, Biological Webbing, But mostly angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Daily Bugle, Dead Tony Stark, Dreams and Nightmares, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Good Mom Pepper Potts, Homeless Peter Parker, Hurt Peter Parker, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Ned Leeds is a Good Bro, No Longer Spider-man, Not A Fix-It, Old Steve Rogers, Oscorp - Freeform, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Peter Parker Deserves Better, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker Whump, Peter Parker is a Mess, Photographer Peter Parker, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Post-Spider-Man: Far From Home, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Precious Peter Parker, Protective Pepper Potts, References to Depression, SHIELD, Self-Discovery, Self-Doubt, Spider-Man: Far From Home (Movie) Spoilers, Tags May Change, Tony Stark is rolling in his grave, Whump, tags are going to change a lot sorry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2020-07-27 06:17:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20041294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samiech/pseuds/samiech
Summary: Peter's identity was released in the worst way possible. After assuring MJ's safety, Peter grabs his bug-bag from May's apartment and hits the streets. The only way to protect his friends and family is to burry himself. Peter Parker no longer exists. Only a shadow remains at night, taking down criminals quietly. Pepper and Stark Industries can't help him, they would get hell for being associated with the wanted vigilante. Not that it stops Pepper from finding ways to help the missing spider.As Peter struggles to survive on the streets and find a way to clear his name, things are brewing in the criminal world. Without his mentor, Peter must find a way to navigate his new reality.





	1. Lone Spider

Peter was having a hard day, which is saying a lot considering his circumstances. After the shit-storm Mysterio caused, Peter had been living on the streets for months. Hiding in New York's massive homeless population was a simple trick. The NYPD spent a ridiculous amount of time canvassing homeless shelters. He wasn't dumb enough to stay in a place so public.

He had started today at the ass-crack of dawn. The street he was currently panhandling was full of important-looking people rushing around. Their pockets were bone dry this morning, he could usually get at least 15 bucks by now. Peter lost himself in his thoughts until his 6th sense jolted him to attention. There was a commotion at the bodega down the street. Peter had to fight down his natural reaction to jump up and chase the perpetrator. He was still a wanted man by the NYPD and most major government organizations. Not to mention the hits he had taken from a drug ring in Brooklyn last night. His head was still spinning from blood loss.

Peter forced himself to watch the robber run free down the street. He watched as a pale-faced man stumbled out of the bodega, calling for help. He watched as the police showed up, an ambulance shortly following. And hardest of all, Peter made himself take in the sight of the man on the stretcher with a GSW to the leg. The blood-stained stretcher brought back memories of a rainsoaked night where Peter, newly enhanced, hadn't acted. His uncle Ben had been a better person than Peter could ever hope to be. That night had resulted in a casualty, this instance would likely not.

He tore his attention away from the scene. The knowledge of his incapability weighed on his mind. He should be out there in costume, helping people. But it was his own fault, his own foolishness that caused this. The best way he could help was from behind the scenes.

The police had put out an APB on anyone resembling Spider-man. Peter couldn't help anyone in daylight, the chance of recognition was too high. The only hero work he did was in the dark, dressed in all black with none of his signature moves or tech. Not that he could use his web-shooters if he wanted to. There was no way for him to get supplied for the fluid. Before he would have used the chemistry lab, but that was completely out of the question. No running around in spandex for Peter, which was a shame. The suit made his abs look very nice (as pointed out by one Michelle Jones).

Peter took stock of his current situation, checking the time on his old Dora watch, a gift from Tony (he had a whole row of them displayed in the workshop). Ten-thirty, he was past due to be home. If the abandoned warehouse could even qualify as one. He needed to leave before the police taped off the area and began questioning witnesses. Any one of them could recognize Peter from the disastrous events of last summer. On a normal day, he would already be back at his warehouse to rest until the "night shift". That was the only time he allowed himself to walk freely through the streets. The only exception is every three days when he sits on this street corner with a pitiful expression and a tin with a few coins. He only started this fund-based daylight expedition after a close brush with starvation. That had been a rough few weeks.

He had to get moving. As he started to gather his minimal possessions, he realized that his small bundle of cash was missing. The coins in the tin remained, someone must have caught on to his ploy. Keeping only coins in the tin garnered more pity from passing pedestrians. Looking around, he couldn't see any obvious thieves in the thick crowds. Peter scolded himself and his spider-sense ("Peter-Tingle" reminded him of May) for not realizing. Making sure that nothing remained on the ground, Peter stood and set off to his warehouse.

The street he panhandled on had many fancy coffee shops and high-end boutiques, and Peter took time to gaze longingly at each one. He used to stop at cafes like these with Mr. Stark after a hard night's work. In the months between the homecoming disaster and... that, they had gotten closer. Tony took Peter on as his personal intern. They would often work themselves through the night when there was no one at the compound to remind them of a little thing called "sleep". Pepper was always busy being CEO, and the other avengers- well- they weren't discussed.

Peter stopped in the middle of the busy sidewalk, causing a woman to bump shoulders with him. He muttered an apology and shook his head, continuing at a fast pace. Priority one was getting to his warehouse and avoiding recognition. There was no use in bringing up such painful things, it was time to move on. He would be 18 in-in...soon? God, what month was it? Peter had been living in survival mode. Only focusing on food, shelter, and saving others. He looked up at the sky as if that would give him some clue. It was overcast, and Peter was wearing a light hoodie. For once he wasn't shivering. So... early spring? That sounds right. Winter had been hard. He had found himself falling asleep and waking days later. Something with his messed-up biology. Stupid spider.

If Peter was being honest with himself, he deserved this. His actions during the Mysterio fiasco led to so much heartache and difficulty for May and his friends. Before he went off-grid, he made sure that no one could persecute them for being in contact with Peter. It was the least he could do. As far as anyone knew, Peter had no confidants to his vigilante actions. No one knew his identity.

Peter hustled down the street with renewed vigor. He needed to take inventory and figure out how he could cut down on spending. He would have to cut back the medical supply fund, and food- a gentle hand on his shoulder interrupted his planning.

"Hey kid, you alright?" Peter turned to see a man in a smart sweater vest and balding hair. His face showed pity, an expression Peter had gotten used to lately.

He dismissed the man's concerns, "Yes, I'm fine sir," he bumbled, hands twitching on his backpack strap. The awkwardness had never left him, despite his time on the streets. "Just looking to head home quickly."

Mystery man raised an eyebrow, "Oh, your parents expecting you?". That made Peter wince, and the man continued, "That's what I thought. Let me help you out son, you don't look so great." He let go of Peter's shoulder and gestured to his side. Now that Peter thought about it, he should have changed his bandages an hour ago. He had wasted to much time watching the burglary and the blood had soaked through to his shirt, oops.

Peter moved quickly to cover his blood-stained shirt, and the man gave him a look that said 'really?'. He glanced up with fear, ready to bolt. People usually tried to get him to a hospital or offered to call CPS when they saw his injuries.

"Listen, son, I work for the Stark Relief Foundation. We can help with any trouble you might be in. There is a new department designed to help kids on the street," he explained and handing Peter a card with a phone number and address. Peter knew the address by heart. He had lived and breathed the foundation when Tony had been- when Tony was around. It's good to know that Peter's absence hadn't slowed Pepper and May. The foundation was their child.

"Thank you sir, now I really have to be on my way," Peter dismissed the man and hurried past. He was starting to really feel that blood loss.

"If you need anything at all, call us. Ask for Paul in the Lone-Spider program," the man, Paul, shouted after him. The program name made Peter slow his fast pace for an instance. They must still be looking for him after all this time. Well, too bad. He hurried down the street away from any relation with the foundation. It was best for everyone if Peter Parker never existed.

* * *

The neighborhood surrounding Peter's hideout was decrepit. Residing in a corner of Manhattan, the area was full of druggies and other such criminals. Luckily, Peter had staked a hard claim on his warehouse after a gang had tried to ambush him. He took them out and dropped them off at the police station with a promise to confess to all their dealings. The warehouse was dark enough that none of them got a good look at Peter and thanks to his disguised voice, they all thought he was a grown man. Everyone in the area knew to fear the mysterious figure in Warehouse M. None of them knew that a scrawny 17-year-old kid had taken down the Blood-Fangs.

Peter walked with his head down, watching the cracked sidewalk pass. He looked up to check his progress, only 2 blocks to go. To avoid predictability, Peter had 5 different routes to get to his house. Today he would be taking the roof access.

The 2 blocks passed in a heartbeat, and Peter found himself in the alley beside his home. He took a minute to check his surroundings. This was one instance where his enhanced senses came in handy. All he could hear was a couple of rats fighting over an old sock. No sign of any prying eyes. Peter took off his ratty shoes and scaled the wall with cautious speed. Once at the top, he ducked down and rushed to the trapdoor, crouching down the whole way. He glanced around one last time before peeling the door open. It gave a harsh screech and Peter winced. This was his least favorite entrance, it was risky.

He hopped down into the wide-open room, not bothering with the ladder. A swirl of dust came up around Peter's feet where he landed. This place was such a mess. Peter sneezed.

"Home sweet home," he muttered to himself. His pile of blankets mocked him in the corner. Sunlight streamed down from holes in the roof, cutting through the dust. Peter took a moment to survey his space. All-in-all, it wasn't so bad. At least he wasn't on the streets. Many of the people he took down had only turned to crime as a last resort. He should have done a report about this in English class his sophomore year. It seems much more relevant than the plight of fire-ants in suburban areas.

Peter set his bag down on an old desk and walked (limped) over to his "med-ward". He called it that because it would have pissed Tony off. The space would never pass any kind of regulation. It was a group of old lockers pushed together to form a seat. Peter had used it to stitch himself up on many occasions. Like this one.

His supplies were surprisingly well kept. It was important that he was always prepared. The Parker Patent-Pending Medical Bag could treat bullet wounds, stab wounds, burns, even road rash. He was working on a slogan, something like "Are you a disgraced and wanted teen vigilante? Boy, do I have the product for you!". So far he had no buyers.

Easing himself down onto the makeshift seat, Peter began to pull out what he would need to patch himself up. He had done a rough wrap-up last night (early morning) before passing out on his blanket bed. Blood had soaked through the shirt he was wearing under the hoodie. Great, now he only owned 2 shirts. Strike for the budget. It was time to go dumpster diving again. He peeled the cloth up to see the bandages. They were way overdue for a change.

Peter cursed his exhausted self for the poor job. The gauze not wrapped tight enough. Past-Peter needed to get his act together. Present-Peter undid the gauze and used his dwindling clean water supply to rinse out the cut. It wasn't too deep, not as bad as the stab wound last month. He winced remembering the pain-filled days. Thanks to his fast healing, he hadn't gotten a serious infection yet. But it was always a possibility.

The needle stung as it sunk into his skin. The first stitch always hurt the most. He found it was easier to get through if he focused on something else. So, as Peter acted as his own nurse, he thought back to another time he was stitched up. After that train hit him in Europe. Man, his life is wack. That time, Happy had been there to do it for him. Happy has much meatier hands than him and Peter had whined like a baby. It was an emotional time alright? Peter would give anything to have Happy poke him with a needle now. That sounded wrong, but you get the gist.

He completed the last stitch and admired his handy work. Not so bad. Like uncle Ben used to say, you gotta find pride in your work. Even if it sucked. He used the last of his gauze to wrap up the wound, this time with enough pressure. Peter sighed and dropped his hands at his side. He was so tired. Not just physically, but mentally and all that crap. His medical area was a mess, and Peter prided himself on living classy. So, despite his bone-deep exhaustion, he pushed himself up and gathered his menial supplies back into the duffle. It was important that he burned his used bandages and anything else with his blood on it. Who knows what could Oscorp of Hydra could do with his weird spidery DNA.

Work station tidied up, he stumbled over to his blanket nest and flopped down. It took some maneuvering to get himself in a semi-comfortable position. Once his head was down he was out like a light. Hopefully, his dreams would be more pleasant than his reality. Maybe he would get some decent food. Dream churros are the best.


	2. Night Monkey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter works the night shift.

_The wreath of flowers and metal floated away on the peaceful lake. Peter was the last one left staring at the water. Most had moved inside, with the exception of Captain America, the guy with the metal arm, wing-dude, and Dr. Banner. They had gone around to the other side of the property to do God knows what. Superheroes always had plans. But there was no planning for this._

_Peter was still shell-shocked over the events in the past few days. Being resurrected, finally getting a hug from his idol and mentor, playing a game of keep-away with the most powerful being in existence, and then - well that's what's happening at the moment. Mr. Stark had built himself a life in the 5 years that Peter had been dead. Before, Tony couldn't be counted on to remember to eat. Peter came back to a world where his mentor had figured I all out. He had the life and had given it away to save everyone._

_Footsteps came from behind him on the dock. The click of high heels on wood made him suspect Aunt May. She had been dusted as well. It was a horrible thing to say, but Peter was glad she hadn't spent those years alone. Peter turned around to greet her with fabricated energy, "Hey Ma-", he cut himself off. It wasn't May standing behind him, but Ms. Potts, or was it Mrs. Stark? They had finally gotten married in those 5 years. Gosh, he had missed a lot._

_"Peter, sorry I'm not the person you were expecting," she said with a small smile. Not knowing how else to react, he mimicked her expression._

_"No, no, it's fine. I just expected May to come out here and see what was the matter."_

_"Well she actually was about to come out herself, but I offered to go instead. I need some fresh air. Everyone keeps offering their condolences, it's a bit overwhelming."_

_They both turned to the water. An awkward silence grew in the air, punctuated by insects in the woods. The water was as calm as the cool air. Sunlight glimmered off the lake, creating a glare like diamonds in the fabric of the water. It was perfectly serene. Peter offered some conversation, "This property is beautiful. I haven't been outside the city much."_

_Pepper smiled as if remembering a happy memory, "Tony needed a break from the bustle of the city. He called it retirement paradise. When we were touring the property with the realtor, he commented that this would be the perfect place to raise a llama. Not even a mention of the child I was carrying."_

_Peter couldn't help but smile. Mr. Stark had a habit of buying things on a whim. He was sure Mrs. Potts would be tired of it after so many years._

_They lapsed back into quiet. Mr. Stark's wreath floated off into the sun glare on the lake, out of view. He wasn't sure if he believed in any kind of afterlife, but if there was such a thing he hoped that Mr. Stark was happy. Events like this made you understand why people put so much effort into their faith. It's nice to think that you and your loved ones can be reunited after it's all over._

_Now that Peter is thinking hard on it, he has a sort of vague memory that has no time stamp. Orange sky, endless water, and a sense of wrongness that he couldn't wrap his head around._

_Peter shook his head and spoke to Mrs. Potts, "I should get inside."_

_"Alright, I'll walk in with you. We never got much time to get to know each other before," she offered, beginning to walk toward the house, "Tony used to rant about his 'protege' constantly, you meant a lot to him, Peter."_

_Peter scrunched his eyebrows, confused, "Did he talk about me that much?" Mrs. Potts' statement surprised him. They had never really made it past the professional stage. Mr. Stark had helped Peter with his calculus homework a few times sure, but it was strictly business. Tony Stark couldn't have an intern with a GPA below a four. _

_Pepper laughed at his expression, "God, I could never get him to shut up about the famed intern who helped him reroute the do-hickey on one of the suits. I can't remember the terms he used; mainframe, circuitry, non-sense."_

_As they walked onto the porch, Peter could hear the faint murmurs of people inside. He recognized the voices of May, Happy, Cornel Rhodes, and the other boy his age whose name he didn't know. Pepper went to push open the door, her back facing Peter but stopped without warning. The air surrounding her became warped with heat and surfaces seemed to melt and blur._

_She turned to him and he jolted back at the sight of her face. Glowing orange gems replaced her eyes. Arms limp at her side, she hovered towards him. Peter scrambled back and covered his mouth to keep from shouting. She opened her mouth and, "BEEP BEEP BEEP..."_

* * *

He sprung up in his blanket nest, gulping down air. Overgrown hair was plastered to his forehead by sweat. Peter held a hand to his chest, feeling his heart beating ragged in his chest. The Dora watch was going off. He shook his head; it's time to get to work.

Dreams and nightmares have plagued Peter for as long as he can remember. As a kid, it had been about his parents in the plane crash. Then it had been uncle Ben dying in front of him, his last words echoing. Of course, he could never forget the terror of 10 tons of concrete holding you down, he still gets anxious in rickety buildings. And then, of course, there was the whole Thanos/space/dust thing. Shortly followed by the death of his mentor. Not to even get into the mess that was his life currently. So, yeah, Peter had a lot of fuel for the subconscious.

The sun was setting, and it cast an orange glow across his sleeping area. There was something about the orange light that made him feel warm and floaty. No matter, it was time to start the night.

Shaking himself off, Peter pushed up from the blanket-covered floor. He went through some basic stretches, contorting himself in ways that would give any gymnast a gold medal at the Olympics. You cant go swing through the city as he had without some rubbery joints.

Thoroughly stretched out, Peter practiced a few flips and moves on the ceiling. Everything checks out there, and his stitches are holding steady.

He grabbed some breakfast from the food cache - granola bar he found completely sealed in a park - and got suited up. His current costume could hardly be considered one at all. There weren't many designer options when living undercover on the streets. His top was a black running shirt he found in a dumpster behind Dick's. The pants had been harder to get, they needed to be tight enough not to impede his motion. The only viable option had been lady's athletic leggings. Oh, the indignity. Aunt May would have fallen to the floor with laughter. To find the leggings, Peter had to walk around a richer neighborhood in the dark. He felt like a total creep. Luckily, someone had thrown out a pair in moderate condition. They came up to Peter's upper calves and pinched in places better left unsaid. But they did the job.

As for his face, Peter managed to find a pair of leg warmers at a local 24/7 Goodwill. An import straight from the '80s. They have to end up somewhere, he guesses. Usually, he doesn't risk stores, but it was 1 a.m. and the only worker was half asleep, thank god. The leg warmers - now face warmers - hid his mouth and nose.

To complete the outfit, he needed one more thing. In his old suit, Peter had designed a pair of lenses that worked to enhance and focus his senses. Using an old pair of swim goggles and some light circuitry, he recreated them for his new line of work.

Peter pulled each piece of the ensemble on and did a few more shakes and kicks to pump himself up. He took a moment to admire himself in the dirty mirror in the corner. It was funny, he looked more like the "Night Monkey" than ever before. Maybe he should play into the branding. Tell all the thugs that Night Monkey had come from Europe to take them down. Ah, the look on their faces would be priceless. 

Tonight he would be patrolling the area bordering Hell's Kitchen. He tried to steer clear of the region due to rumors of another, far more terrifying, vigilante surveying the neighborhood. But there was word of a major shipment of meth coming in. Peter went over his plan for the night in his head as he left his warehouse through the back exit. The door led to a back alley that connects to others throughout the city. They served as Peter's highway of vigilantism.

He started up a light jog and sprung onto the side of the nearest building, quickly scaling the brick. He tended to avoid the very tops of buildings these days. A random guy in black on a rooftop in the middle of the night was mega shady. He had the police called on him the first time. That was a fun chase. Once at a reasonable height, he stood sideways on the wall parallel to the ground. He started his jog again, this time on the side of the building. Keeping an ear out for signs of distress, he continued his patrol for a few hours. He kept to the side of alleys, ducking down if anyone came near. For the most part, it was a quiet night. If he used his imagination, he could imagine he was in his old suit. With a loving Aunt waiting at home and a sophisticated suit to keep him safe. The image was ruined by the lack of weight on his wrists, a constant reminder of his mistakes. 

A little later in the night, Peter made his way to the area where the deal was supposed to go down. His info had come from complete dumb luck, a twist on his usual brand of Parker-Luck. He had been sitting on a random street corner, with a cap over his head to prevent recognition, when two shady looking men had stopped about 20 feet from him. The exchange only lasted a few seconds, but that was all the information Peter needed. 

He forced himself to focus up as he approached the abandoned apartment building. There was a dusty "For Rent" sign sagging in the front window with a phone number below. Taking a necessary cautious risk, Peter climbed a building across from the drop sight. Once over the ledge, he ducked down flat to the gravel on the roof. From what he could see, there were five or six men standing casually around the front of the complex. They were trying to be inconspicuous, but their very presence at the ruined building signaled their purpose. Groups of people don't stand around at this time of night without nefarious intent. These criminals need to step up their game, Peter thought.

Peter had been watching for around 10 minutes when a car pulled up to the building. Two men armed with wicked-looking guns stepped out first and one opened the side door. A very lavishly dressed man came out and smoothed his jacket. The armed men obviously worked for him, they gave the guards outside the building a suspicious look. This must be the buyer. Looking to resell the product onto the streets, most likely. Spider-man hadn't tackled these things before, but things are different now.

Peter tracked the man's progress into the building. One of his armed assistants tried to open the door, it didn't budge. Peter heard a woman's voice, "Code please, sweets." The man in the suit responded with a phrase that Peter couldn't quite make out. The door opened to reveal a younger woman with a large gun that contrasted her welcoming expression. She mentioned something about upstairs and all four entered the complex.

It was time to strike. Peter quickly descended from the building and sprinted across the street. He was far enough away that none of the guards out front noticed him. Once on the other side, he took a quick survey of the men. They didn't have any guns visible, but that didn't rule out knives or side-arms. Peter didn't want to take any chances. He snuck into the alley behind the building. As he was making his way towards the side to get a look at the windows, his spider-sense rang in his head. Peter looked around sharply, trying to discern the source. Just then, a shattering sound came from an above window, and a scream pierced the night.

He took immediate action. Something must have gone sour in the deal. His fingers grasped the rough siding as he sped up the wall. There were fire escapes and window ledges along the way that gave him a boost. Once at the window where he had heard the scream come from, Peter stopped and peeked in. No need to rush without a good visual. Another trick he had learned on the streets. All he could see in the room was a large case, presumably filled with meth, and the businessman from outside lying on the ground. Seeing that there weren't any others in the room, Peter pried the window open. It screeched in the pane and Peter winced, he hoped no one heard that. With the window open, he could hear the sounds of a scuffle from the hall. he slipped in the frame and moved over to the man on the ground.

"Please don't be dead, please don't be dead," Peter whispered to himself. He held his fingers to the side of the man's throat. There was a pulse. He was only knocked out. "Oh thank God." Peter felt a lot better about picking through a living man's pockets. In the side of the jacket, Peter found an old flip phone. He opened it and dialed 911.

As the line was ringing, he cleared his throat. A woman answered the call, "911 what's your emergency?"

In a fake deep voice with a heavy European accent, he responded, "There is drug deal at 4827 Gerald Avenue, please come." He hung up and tossed the phone to the side of the room.

The sounds of fighting had died down in the hall. Peter took a few hesitant steps toward the door. He could hear a woman pleading, and a gravelly voice questioning her. With the buyer unconscious on the ground, it was unlikely that the deal itself had gone bad. The man had the guards with him, so they must have kept watch in the hall. Whoever had ruined this deal must be skilled to take them all on. This could be the work of a rival gang.

Peter mentally prepared himself to face whatever was in the hall. With a deep steadying breath, he pushed the door open and placed himself in a defensive position. The hall was littered men, all lying bloody on the ground. Only two people remained conscious. Standing over the lady from outside was a man in a mask with devil horns coming off the top. This must be the other vigilante that Peter had heard about! He held the woman by her shirt, her face was bloody and bruised. "Please! I Don't know anything. I'm just a pretty face to butter up customers."

The masked guy wasn't having any of it, "I know your ruse. I've seen this all before. What. Company. Do. You. Work. For." He would have continued but Peter's presence registered in his head. Horn-guy (wow that was a bad nick-name) took a look at him and turned back to the lady, dropping her on the ground, "Another lackey eh? I'll take care of him and be back for you." The man started toward him and Peter gulped, preparing to fight. This couldn't end well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I'm going to be completely honest. This work isn't exactly on the top of my priority list at the moment. Between tennis and APUSH I just can't find that much time. Of course, I'm going to keep working when I can, but don't expect regular updates. Thanks for sticking with me though! I have only watched the first season and a half of DareDevil so if something is off don't sue me. 
> 
> P.S. The Sony Disney divorce is sapping my life force.


	3. Dealing with the Devil

Several things went through Peter's head as he watched his horned assailant saunter towards him. First, the hall was way to horror-film like. The lights flickered as if they were shaking in fear of the devil that was approaching. Prone figures littered the stained ground as monuments to the man's abilities. Second, the guy must have some kind of enhancements. No one could take out that many armed men without some major skill. Peter wasn't sure if even he could come out completely unscathed. Third, he realized that, shit, he should probably do something about the fact that he was about to get his ass beat. He reflects that there are a few options he can go with, but only one came to mind as the terror took hold. GET THE HELL AWAY FROM CREEPY HORN MAN.

Peter spun on his heels and dashed straight back into the room where the deal had taken place. An alarm went off in his head, and he ducked in time to avoid a swift right hook from the man. "Holy sHiT," his voice cracking at an inopportune moment. Peter turned to face his opponent, reluctant to fight the intimidating vigilante.

Fists raised in protection, he took in the man's gear. The guy was buff. Peter could see his muscles through layers of bullet-proof material. Two harsh looking batons hung from his belt, along with other assorted gear. Peter did not see a gun. This only confirmed his assumption that the man was enhanced. The mask covering the top half of his face seemed too cheesy for anyone but a vigilante. Peter can speak from experience. You couldn't be counted on to save people unless your costume could make them snort. Of course, supervillains tended to use the same methods. Look no further than Peter's villain-of-the-week enemies. However, the fact that Peter had seen him beating up the baddies eliminated that possibility. 

The man scowled at him through the half-mask. Another punch came barreling towards Peter. He ducked again and used the man's moment of confusion to make his escape. The window he had entered from was still open, and Peter vigorously took the opportunity. With a swift spinning kick, which the man easily dodged, he sprung out onto the fire escape. Peter glanced back in the window before leaping off the side of the rail and onto a building below. Horn-guy looked confused. Likely not expecting one of the "lackeys" to outmaneuver him.

Peter hit the roof with a soft whump and tucked into a roll before darting off. The gravel shifted beneath his hurried feet and Peter nearly lost his balance. Seconds after he had started the mad dash, he heard another pair of footsteps on gravel following. Horn-guy was chasing after him.

At the ledge of the structure, he braced himself and dropped off. There was a dumpster below that somewhat cushioned his descent. He zoomed down the alley, ignoring the aching in his joints from the harsh abuse. From above, a deep gravelly voice called out through the night, "Stop where you are!"

Peter didn't stop.

The tell-tale sound of feet hitting the pavement spurred him to push on. He knew these streets like the back of his hand, surely he could lose the vigilante in the winding alleys. He let all thoughts fall out of his head and put all focus on the mad dash through the streets. Even when the footsteps behind faded into nothing, Peter ran. There was no way to know if the man had given up, or was simply being more stealthy in his pursuit.

He didn't stop his flight through the city until his legs ached from the constant slap on the pavement. He slowed to a stop, only slightly winded. Based on his surroundings, Peter could deduce that he had run several miles through the city. It was surprising that no one had tried to stop him. A teenager in all black sprinting at supernatural speeds at 3 am? New Yorkers were hard to ruffle. Peter leaned against a brick wall behind a trash chute and listened hard. A dog barking, sirens in the distance, a car alarm, someone rustling through a trash can a block away, the buzzing of the streetlights. All were typical sounds of the city. He allowed himself a breath of relief and relaxed his shoulders. Despite being out of immediate trouble, the mask remained securely on his face. There was no way he would risk any of that business.

Peter turned down the alley to start the jog home. This had been a major flop. No new information on the dealers and a new vigilante was sure to be on his tail. As he went to turn a corner, his spider-sense assaulted him with urgency. He stopped with a jolt, fists raised in defense. A red blur dropped down from above. It was Horn-guy. Surprise, surprise.

Peter dropped down into a defensive stance, ready to bolt at any second. The man seemed relaxed. He had his hands facing outwards and his head up, everything about him said 'open'. It was like he was trying to approach an injured animal. Huh, figures. The pity-party makes another appearance. "Hey, kid, I'm not gonna hurt you," the man tried to reason. Peter could see behind the act. It was obvious he was going to try and "help" him. Probably by calling CPS.

"I don't know what your deal is, man. You came at me." Peter deepened his voice in a poor attempt to replicate Karen's interrogation mode. It had worked on Flash.

"Drop the fake voice kid I heard that crack before, you can't be older than 19," he argued. Oops. The guy must be a lot smarter than Flash. Peter had been wondering how Flash had taken the reveal. Most likely he was still in denial. No way could someone as dorky as "Penis Parker" be his masked idol. He caught himself getting off-topic. Stressful situations made his mind wander. "Listen," the man continued, "I think I can help you out, I know some people who are looking for someone with your description."

That was bad news. The guy has to be working for the authorities. Peter glanced around the alley. Behind him was a solid wall, and there were no fire escapes within reach on the side of the surrounding buildings. Unless he wanted to reveal his abilities, he would have to go through horn-guy. Peter decided on his action. He stepped forward hesitantly, "What kind of help are we talking?" The man noted his open stance and came forward.

"Obviously, you're not well-off. I have seen more meat on a vegetarian's plate." Peter winced at the observation. Indeed, he hasn't exactly had a stable source of food these past few months. "At least let me get you a sandwich, there is a 24-hour deli around the corner."

Peter decided to take a chance, "Alright, but any funny business and I'm out."

Horn-guy turned and stalked down the alley. Once he reached the main road, he turned back to Peter, who had remained hidden in the shadows of the buildings. The pale street lights cast the man in a new light. His armor was not black like he had though. It was bloodred. "You coming, pal?" Peter shivered before letting himself be led off by the man. This was sure to be fun.

* * *

Mhhm, Peter hadn't had food like this in a long while. It had taken a few months to realize that local delis and bodegas would quickly drain his funds if he wasn't cautious. Of course, by then it was mostly too late. The small fund he had stored in his bug bag had been diminished to the last few crumpled bills. He decided that stores were off-limits, and started scavenging for food like so many others on the streets. The last of his money was stashed away for a rainy day or a life-threatening scenario. Logically, there had been many occasions that could have called for the stash to be used. But whenever Peter considered it, the paranoid voice in his head pushed the thought away. He wasn't dead yet, so the fund was still useful.

He took another bite of the sub. The store the Devil had brought him to was like so many others he had been to. Filled with merchandise for the average-joe. Affordable to those with low paying jobs and desperate pockets. The man working the counter had been asleep when they opened the door. He jolted up at the door's chime though, and one glance at the two of them had him wide awake. Any citizen in NYC could recognize a vigilante. If not by name, then by the gear, mask, and hardened expression.

The man himself had not ordered any food. They sat together in the grimy booth as Peter devoured the meal. The air was thick with tension. Once he had finished the sub, peter licked his fingers clean and glanced up at the guy. "So," Peter broke the silence, "What makes you think I'm the man you're looking for? What 'description' did these people give you?" His mouth was still half full.

"Small stature, incredible reflexes, surprising strength, high-pitched voice, worn down equipment, and won't turn down a free meal."

Peter stiffened, "Someone's looking for a homeless kid is what you're telling me." He tried to play it cool, relaxing and gesticulating with his hands. "Hate to tell you, man, but I'm a uni student. Not homeless and not a kid by most standards."

"The description was given out as a way to combat the government's search for this kid. All underground vigilantes and anti-heroes were given the information. That should include you. Unless you would be the topis of this search." He squinted at Peter in suspicion. Convincing the guy was going to be tough.

"Listen, I don't exactly keep up with the superhero underground. I try to keep away from those sorts of systems. I'm only in this to help the neighborhood, you know?"

Horn-guy still didn't look convinced. His head was tilted to the side and his arms crossed in defense, "You see, that's exactly the kind of thing my target would have said," he leaned forward and continued the interrogation with new force, "I'm sure you've seen the news in the last few months. What's your opinion on the whole "Spider-man/Peter Parker" debacle?"

And, that was Peter's queue to leave, "Well, mister. It sure has been fun. I think I should get going." He slid quickly out of the bench and tugged down his mask. This was bad news, and Peter had two guesses as to who was behind this underground vigilante search party. They never did stop, did they? Why couldn't they just understand that things were better this way? No one was getting hurt and Peter was alone. As he should be.

He didn't look back as he hurried out the door. The bell dinged pleasantly above him. Almost a mockery of the situation. As he began his jog down the street, preparing to get lost in the city's maze, he heard the bell again. It was barely audible through the rain that had started, but the bell was accompanied by the man's voice. "Parker, wait." He stumbled. It has been so long since he heard his name, hah. "I know I can help you. I can get your charges dropped if you come with me. Back to Stark Industries, back home."

Peter stood rigid in the rain, back to the man. There was no escape, no help that could be offered. He didn't deserve it. The rain poured down heavy, soaking his gear. He spoke softly, hoping he wouldn't be heard, "Don't give me that hope, sir. I don't deserve their devotion. Tell them to stop looking."

And with that, he was gone. Down the street and into the darkness of the city. Street lights revealed the sadness on the man's face as he watched the teen run from his family and home.

* * *

Pepper at the floor to ceiling window on the east side of the tower. Simply looking, simply searching. There was no hope of seeing him from so high, but she could hope. It was easy to imagine the red and blue figure swinging from the buildings below, carefree and safe.

Her husband's legacy. Tony had never forgotten him. His death had changed him, made him realize what was important. Eve before the snap, Peter had begun to change Tony in little ways. He brought out things in Tony that Pepper had never imagined she would ever see, a fatherly nature. Tony had seen the future in his brilliance. The snap snuffed out that brilliance, but Tony had brought it back. He gave everything up for the future, for his legacy.

None of it mattered in the end. Peter's bright future was crushed yet again. Not by death, but by something nearly as bad in the teen's eyes. His anonymity.

She was deep in thought when a strong pressure came from behind her knees. She looked down to see a pair of arms wrapped around her legs. "Mommy! What'cha doin?" Morgan's voice came from below. Pepper smiled. Here was the result of Peter's influence over Tony. He was his first kid.

"Nothing Morguna, just admiring the view." Heavy rain had started over the city, obscuring her sight somewhat. But the city lights still shone through, magnified and blurred in the water coating the glass. "Why don't we get you to bed, huh?"

With Morgan in her arms and Peter in her mind, Pepper looked away from the city. The search would continue; there was hope for Peter, there was hope for Spider-man, and there was hope for Tony's legacy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: I'll totally have time to write a full-length fic during the school year!  
School: *is hard*  
Me: uh, time to bail!
> 
> So, yeah. I completely underestimated how much free time I would have during school. This chapter has been in progress since September. This is your New Years' gift, dear reader. I truly appreciate you all and thank you so much for your patience.
> 
> If Matt Murdock seems OOC please tell me I haven't watched very much Daredevil, though it is an amazing show. Criticism is always welcome, just be nice I'm babie. This is my first fanfic so nothing is refined or anything.
> 
> See you all soon! (hopefully)

**Author's Note:**

> Whelp! Here is my official debut to the Archive! I started reading on here months ago and I always told myself I would start writing. After all, that is my career aspiration. Please go easy on me I'm just a novice :P. Criticism is always welcome, please help me improve. I do have a small issue with motivation and procrastination so be warned. I will try to update every few days for your benefit. Love you all! Thanks for reading!


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